


The (de)Evolution of BB

by Zeebruh



Category: Death Note
Genre: Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases, Disguise, Light Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeebruh/pseuds/Zeebruh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you want to achieve something badly enough, you can get it. It helps to be a tad psychotic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (de)Evolution of BB

“It’s my policy to ask, are you absolutely positive you would like to go through with this?”

“Would I be here if I wasn’t?” he replies, smiling icily. The doctor raises an eyebrow. “Okay, sir. Just had to clear that up,” and clears his throat, taking a look at the picture. “So this is the final model you would like.”

The young man nods once. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Dr. Gerome agrees, studying it more closely. “I have to say, however, your nose is quite nice itself. What made you decide you would like to change it?”

“I didn’t know it was in your job description to ask so many personal questions.”

The doctor grunts. “My apologies,” he says, “Well then. I’ll call you within this week to let you know what day your procedure will be on, but I can tell you now that it won’t be before the last two weeks of next month. As well,” he hands the young man a thin stack of papers. “You will need to sign these.”

“I’ll look forward to your call,” the man nods again, and gets up from his chair, “Thank you for your help, Doctor.” “Goodbye Mr. Ryuzaki.”

 

\---

The nose job was the hard part. After shelling out $10,000 he’s happy with the result, as expected. Luckily, other than that one aspect of his face, he can make his features work without any more surgery. As it is, the surgery wasn’t so bad – his nose is puffy and the skin around his eyes is purpling, but he stopped taking anesthetics after the second day because it’s not all that unbearable. He takes a look into the pristine mirror centred in the suite bathroom, and smiles at himself. Hunches his shoulders when he remembers that he needs to get used to walking like that. He presses the pads of his fingertips lightly along the pink skin, and settles on the small bandage stretching across the bridge of his nose. “Too easy,” he chuckles, breathing sharply when he presses harder. “Too easy.” And in a split second, he rips off the bandage with a satisfying tear, and cannot suppress the burst of laughter that spills from his lips afterwards.

 

\---

He started starving himself about four weeks ago. He was never a big eater to begin with, so it wasn’t very hard to slowly start siphoning off meals. After two weeks into it, and only a loss of seven pounds, he began to realize that perhaps this plan wasn’t working. He cursed at the weighing machine, kicking at it and stomping on it until the numbers began to blink and eventually shut off. Grabbed it beneath his weakened fingers, digging his nails into the hard surface before lifting it high over his head, and smashing it into the bathtub. A few minutes later, he was coiled over the toilet, gripping the plastic fork that he took from breakfast – strawberry jam remnants coating the tines – and forcing it down his throat. Too easy, he thinks to himself as the bile rose in his esophagus. It wasn’t his favourite pastime, but it did the trick. Eight days later he had lost ten pounds.

 

\---

Finding the appropriate wig is tougher than he had expected. This is Los Angeles, for god’s sake, the city of performers. He’s already shaved his cropped brown hair into a buzz, so now all he needs is the wig. And it has to be perfect. He finally discovers something close enough to what he needs, and takes it upon himself to cut it to his liking. Granted, he spends the first thirty minutes of his project playing with the scissors, snipping at random things he finds in the room – the bed sheets, the lamp, his shirt, his eyelashes, and ends with a nick right under his throat. It hurts but he only swipes at the blood with his fingers. Studies the stark crimson colour, the way it drips onto his palm, and slides his tongue up from his wrist to savour the metallic taste.

 

\---

He’s reaches his goal weight in six weeks, and decides that it’s time. The mirror in this suite is not quite as large or well-lit as the last, but there isn’t much he can do about that. He had to get out of the place before room service discovered the state of it. “La la la,” he sings without specific melody, running his index across the razor blade to test it. It’s definitely sharp enough, if he couldn’t already tell by the glistening silver. “Da da doooo da daaaaa.” His voice rises in crescendo once he’s all soaped up, the tap water creating a pleasant white noise, and he takes the razor and sweeps it across his eyebrow. Just a few minutes later he’s finished. “Too easy,” he grins wildly, “much too easy, much too easy!” He turns it into a song, gurgles it when he washes his face, soothing the small cuts he made along the way. When he’s all clean, he grabs the bag of makeup sitting on the side of the sink. Takes forty-five minutes to daub white powder over his face, neck, and entire body. And then he pops open the pitch black kohl, uses a great deal of precision to make the darkness look real.

 

\--

The final product makes him ecstatic. He stands in front of the mirror for perhaps an hour or two, just looking at himself. Grinning and cackling, and taking a break for just a few minutes to celebrate with a jar of jam, which tastes even sweeter than normal. He gazes at his hair, smudges the eyeliner with his finger, licks jam off his finger, adjusts the extra-large white shirt that hangs off his emaciated frame, admires his rounded shoulders, adds more white powder to his face and hands. “Too easy!” he exclaims, wild with laughter. He catches the red glint of his eyes in the mirror and the way his mouth widens on his thinned face. “Too easy, too easy, too easy!” He can see the reflection of the line of wara ningyos pinned to the wall, how beautiful they look. The bottle of prescription pills sitting on the desk peacefully. “Ah,” he begins to calm from the hysteria, and holds up the small picture he stole from supposed high-security FBI files. The blurred photograph of the back of a tall, skinny man with wild black hair, bleak white skin and loose clothing. “ _L, you make it too easy for me._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my take on what Beyond Birthday did to look like L. It's always been a bit of a mystery, so it was a lot of fun to write this. I based it off a drawing that I sketched of what BB might look like without all the makeup and the hair and whatnot, and then used tracing paper to show his transformation bit by bit. I'll link that here when I'm done colouring the drawings. Hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
